


Let Me Whisper In Your Heart

by Tay (erentitanjaeger)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Modern Fantasy, SHEITH - Freeform, Witch Keith (Voltron), plant witch keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 03:30:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erentitanjaeger/pseuds/Tay
Summary: Keith had learnt very quickly that he didn’t like people.  He is good with plants.  He’s good at what he does, and he enjoys it, so he had never felt the need to ‘get out there’ and ‘meet people’.  He could stay inside his shop for hours, help the occasional customer that stumbled in, and research infinite new ways to bring back extinct plants, or help those who were in trouble.  He didn’t need living company beyond those that photosynthesise.It didn’t help that witches were usually scorned by normies on principle alone.





	Let Me Whisper In Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @/mifune_chi on twitter for commissioning me this lovely work! It was such a pleasure to research and write! I hope I did you AU justice!

The happy calls of the canes and ferns are the first thing Keith always hears upon opening his shop’s door.  Then it’s the small trills of the flowers, the daffodils and the pogonias, both the sonic and radiance impatiens.  The hanging plants, the columnea cascadings and the assorted vines Keith has begun to grow, they prefer to stay quiet but Keith can hear their soft whispers. 

Probably planning another prank.

Sure enough, as Keith walks past the bouquets of lilies and roses (Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, they’ll be ready for repotting soon), there’s a small gust of air that hits his previously covered hair.  Keith humours the cascadings, pretends to be annoyed, even though they’ve played this prank on him several times before.

“Alright,” his tone is soft, amused, though stern.  Something you’d hear from a parent who found his kid playing with something they shouldn’t.  “Very funny.  May I have my hat back now, please?”

Keith holds out his hand, flexing his fingers at the vines hanging from the ceiling as they pass his witch’s hat back and forth between them.  Keith can still hear their giggles. 

Keith taps his foot impatiently.

Eventually, they surrender it, to which Keith plops the large hat back over his hair.

“Thank you.  I appreciate it,” is all he says as he makes his way to through the shop and out the back.

There, a small greenhouse sits.  It houses the more rarer members of his family.  The flowers kept for research rather than for sale.  The baby bulbs who are yet to sprout, who still need loving care away from mortal hands.  Then there’s the glowing bluebells and the singing snap-dragons, who would be hard to explain away to any normal passers-by.  Keith greets them all in turn.

“I’m sorry, tulips, but Jason was disqualified from X Factor last night.  I know you liked him,” Keith says offhandedly, as he places his hat where it’s supposed to hang, then begins about opening his notebooks over his desk and rearranging his test tubes and vials.  “Maybe he’ll come back next season.”

The tulips give him a disappointed sigh in reply.

Keith hopes this won’t affect their mood too much; they can be moody even on good days, and Keith really needs their petals for a dye he’s been working on.  They won’t give them easily if they’re all sulking.

The catnip sitting on his desk gives a soft mew.  Keith doesn’t look up, only continues to set up his usual arrangement, trying to find the pile of notes he’d been working on last week. 

“No, I’m still mad at you for Monday night’s shenanigans,” Keith says, bitterness filling his voice even as he finally locates his notes and pulls them out from under a pile of encyclopedias.  “If you were so offended by those dog-nip seeds I had been working on, you should have told me.  Throwing them into the Bunsen burner is not a healthy way of dealing with your anger.”

The catnip continues to meow apologies at him, but he knows them.  He knows they’re not genuine apologies.  Until then, Keith will continue to give them the silent treatment.

The morning continues much of the same.  Keith flits between his research and his plants.  He waters the flowers and rotates the succulents, so they get more sun.  He makes sure the cacti aren’t thirsty yet, and that the calla lilies and dahlias are taking well to their new soil.  They tell him they much prefer this mix to the last one, so he promises to continue using it.

His research takes a turn for the worse when he adds too much lemon grass to the mix, and it begins to smell sour.  He has to quickly pour the fertiliser down the sink and open a few windows.  Scrapping two months’ worth of research because of one careless mistake doesn’t put him in a good mood, but his morning brightens once again when the ghost orchard he had adopted decides, at that moment, to sprout.  Keith gently welcomes it to the family, so as not to scare it back into its soil.

The day passes like this, and it’s around late afternoon when there’s a sudden spike in chatter.  Keith glances up from the orchard, realising that could only mean one thing. 

A customer.

“Alright everyone, be on your best behaviour,” Keith orders, marching through the greenhouse door back into his shop. 

Keith is taking off his gloves when he rounds the counter, and stops short.  The afternoon sun is streaming in through the shop’s front windows, casting a beautiful orange onto everything in its path.  His customer, a man currently bent over a pot of daffodils, is no exception to the colour cascading throughout the room.  He notices Keith though, stands slowly and offers a warm smile rivalling that of the spring air currently filling the room. 

Keith has to blink, has to remember how to breathe.

“Hello,” the man speaks, his voice just as gentle as his eyes.  “I wasn’t sure if anyone was actually here.  I’m glad I spotted you.”

Keith promptly forgets how to speak.

He has never been good with people.  Even when he was young, he much preferred staying within the comfy confines of his family’s study, then running around outside with the neighbourhood kids. 

Plants, despite the occasional trouble makers, were honest.  They might joke and pull pranks, but he could always rely on them to be frank about their intentions and, so long as he was honest in return, they got along just fine.  People were so hard to read, and even if he felt he was reading them correctly, something would happen and he would be wrong.  Or he would say something they deemed ‘funny’, even when he was being entirely serious, and they would then think of him differently; strangely.  It didn’t help that witches were usually scorned by normies on principle alone.

Keith had learnt very quickly that he didn’t like people.  He is good with plants.  He’s good at what he does, and he enjoys it, so he had never felt the need to ‘get out there’ and ‘meet people’.  He could stay inside his shop for hours, help the occasional customer that stumbled in, and research infinite new ways to bring back extinct plants, or help those who were in trouble.  He didn’t need living company beyond those that photosynthesise.

“H-hi,” Keith finds his voice eventually.  It comes out croaked and high-pitched.  The man gives him an amused look; Keith hopes the look is not meant to be condescending.  “Uh…how can I help you?”

This is when the man scratches the back of his head, offering Keith another smile, though this one tight, his eyebrows drawn up in confusion.

“I’m not really sure, actually.”

Keith has to keep himself from getting annoyed.

If this man doesn’t know what he wants, how is Keith supposed to know?  Just another example of why normies are so weird.

“My friend is moving into a new apartment today,” the man continues, offering more context to his apparent dilemma.  “I wanted to get her a house warming gift, and thought maybe a plant would be a good idea.  I’m just not sure what to get her.”

At this, Keith smiles, long and dazed, because _yes,_ this is where he can shine.

The man blinks at Keith’s sudden shift in mood, perplexed, but continues to smile back.

“Plants respond best if they’re matched with their partner’s lifestyle,” Keith starts, moving toward the daffodils the man had previously been looking at. 

“Partner?” he asks, confused by Keith’s choice of words.  Keith continues without hearing him.

“Daffodils are fairly easy to maintain, but they do require mostly moist soil and good fertiliser to grow healthily.  You said your friend lives in an apartment, right?  Maybe not these then.  Daffodils much prefer growing in a garden with trees, surrounded by a well-kept lawn; somewhere with a view.”

“A view?” The man tries again.

“How is she with care?  Will she be able to care for a plant that needs regular attention, or would something that needs less watering suit her more?”

The man seems to be trying to take in all of the information Keith just landed on him, eyes wide as he blinks at Keith.  Eventually, he gives Keith a nervous laugh.

“She’s more the type that can’t keep anything alive, really,” he chuckles.  This only makes Keith frown however, causing the man to raise his hands in defence.  “Though not for lack of trying!”

“Perhaps you should be gifting her a pet rock…” Keith mutters bitterly.

Keith realises the severity of his soured words only after they leave his mouth, and feels the immediate need to apologise.  Even though he doesn’t like people, it doesn’t mean he can scare away his customers.  They are responsible for allowing Keith to keep his shop open, after all.

Yet, he doesn’t need to worry for long, as the man covers his mouth and laughs into his palm.  His eyes crinkle at the corners, further deepening the lines there, but the scar on his nose scrunches and the sound is loud and carefree.  Genuine.  Keith finds he likes the sound of it.

Keith smiles in return, thankful he hadn’t hurt his customer’s feelings.

“You know, I probably should,” the man says, in between bouts of slowly dying laughter.  “I don’t think I could stand seeing another wilting fern in her kitchen.”

Keith waits patiently for the man to stop laughing, deciding it would be best to keep his factoids about fern care and their distaste for strong sunlight to himself.  The man was most likely joking.

When the man’s laughter sub-sides and he can turn his attention back to Keith, his eyes are bright, rivalling that of the setting sun behind him.  Keith feels his chest tighten again.

“I’m Shiro, by the way,” he says, holding out his hand, one made of metal and gears.  It catches the light.  Keith can’t seem to look away from Shiro’s face though, not long enough to take much notice of it. 

“Keith,” he says in reply, taking the hand and shaking it.

Except, their hands do not part.  They stay clasped between them, Shiro’s large palm pretty much engulfing Keith’s, his thumb brushing the skin of Keith’s hand.  Keith finds himself tightening his fingers around the silicone palm as his heart speeds up in his chest, their eyes never leaving each other’s.

Eventually, the light changes, the sun setting fully below the horizon, snapping Keith out of his trance.  He coughs, taking his hand back.  Shiro gives him an apologetic look. 

“Sorry, you’re probably closing now,” Shiro says, looking almost regretful. 

In truth, Keith usually closes around this time because his plants in the back need the most attention at dusk, but he can’t bring himself to kick Shiro out of his shop. 

“It’s alright if it’s you,” Keith replies.

He doesn’t realise the double meaning of this until Shiro raises an eyebrow at him, though his beautiful smile doesn’t waver.  Keith blanches.

“I-I just mean I can stay open later! To help you find your friend’s plant!”

Shiro only tilts his head, clear amusement in his eyes.  Though this time, Keith knows it’s not condescending, and genuine gratefulness.  Keith can hear the teasing taunts of the daisies, though chooses to ignore them.

They slowly make their way through the shop.  Shiro asks about each and every plant they pass, and there’s a lot of them.  Keith is confused as to why he would be interested in flowers like roses and orchards, why he would want to know the meaning behind them when he says his relationship with his friend is purely platonic, but Keith happily explains anyway.  They pass the row of succulents Keith keeps, and he even suggests a cactus, before Shiro explains he feels like his friend would take receiving a cactus the wrong way.

Keith agrees it is probably not the most heart-warming of house warming presents. 

At every plant, however, they all have something different to say.  The tulips for sale say Shiro smells nice and would make a great florist.  The ferns say Shiro seems honest, while the vines agree, but add on he may have some heavy emotional baggage.  Keith tuts at them, giving them a quiet ‘who doesn’t?’ as he and Shiro pass.  The roses, of course, don’t shut up about how romantic he seems, how wonderful it would be to sit with him over a candle lit dinner, or be held in his arms as they dance around the room.

Keith frowns, thankful Shiro cannot hear their gushing as he gazes over a bouquet of forget-me-nots.

Shiro and Keith make their way throughout the entire shop, and it’s nearing very late before Shiro finally settles on a pot of plumbagos.  He mentions the blue of the petals will delight his friend, and help to brighten up her living room.  Keith agrees, and explains they won’t need watering once they’re fully grown, making them the ideal flower to keep once she begins travelling for work again.

They’re at the check-out counter, Keith ringing up Shiro’s purchase, when the cascadings begin to whisper.  Normally shy, and ultimately quiet around customers, Keith is confused as to why they would be choosing now to speak up, though understands when he hears the dull tug at the back of his mind, the one telling him he should be brave, be confident, and ask this stranger out.

Keith feels his face go entirely red.

“H-here is your ch-change,” Keith stammers, his hands shaking now as he drops the small pile of coins into Shiro’s palm.  Shiro seems to take his time putting them back into his wallet, all the while, his plants seem to chorus at him to make a move.  Keith gives them all stern looks over Shiro’s shoulder.

When Shiro looks back up, Keith only smiles.

“Thanks for all your help today,” Shiro says, seeming to make no move to leave or exit the shop.  Keith has to say he’s relieved.  “I’ve never met a florist as helpful as you.  You really take your time and show you care.”

Keith’s blush only seems to intensify at the compliments Shiro gives him.  It’s not even a compliment really.  Of course, Keith cares about his plants, that’s just a fact, but there’s something about the way Shiro says it that makes it seem so much more than just a statement.  Keith looks away, hiding his eyes under his bangs, biting his lip so he doesn’t smile widely at Shiro’s words and kind gaze.

“Plants are just so much easier to talk to,” Keith finds himself saying, open and honest, something Keith is not used to being.  He feels vulnerable like this, yet he finds he doesn’t mind, not with Shiro.

Shiro tilts his head at Keith’s odd turn of phrase, but doesn’t laugh or pick on it like somebody else might.

“Well, I’m sure they like hearing what you have to say.”

It’s quiet following Shiro’s words, and Keith finds himself staring at Shiro, at his kind eyes and warm smile and open-hearted expression.  Keith finds himself wondering how Shiro can be like this, so kind and generous, when he’s clearly been hurt before.  The scars littering his arms and neck, the bionic hand, the shock of white hair atop his head (which is too pure to be artificial). Yet here he stands, humouring Keith’s whimsical nature despite maybe not truly understanding it.

He’s trying, and that means the world to Keith.

The silence between them continues.  There’s the occasional car going by on the street outside, the flicker of the headlights lighting up the shop for a mere moment.  Keith’s plants flutter and brush together, despite their being no breeze.  Shiro doesn’t seem to notice, only stands there comfortably, having no reason to stay yet stays anyway.  Keith likes the quiet between them, he doesn’t feel like he’s being pressured to talk or to make conversation; like Shiro would happily sit here enjoying his company for hours even if he had nothing to say.

“So, I know I’m maybe not the greatest conversationalist,” Shiro speaks, quiet and soft, though his words aren’t meant to leave room for Keith to interject.  “But, will you go out with me?  Maybe for coffee?”

Keith’s heart erupts in his chest.  His plants’ hush becomes a roaring of whispers and frantic trills.  Keith finds it hard to drown them out, the tips of his fingers tingling and his toes curling in his boots.  He takes a deep breath, trying not to get his hopes up.  For all he knows, Shiro could be asking as a friend.  Maybe he just wants to know more about plants, and it would be easier to discuss them outside of work?  He did say he liked that Keith was rather helpful.

“Kind of like a date?” Keith’s words are quiet and small as they leave his lips.  He can’t seem to look Shiro in the eyes.

“Exactly like a date.”

Keith fights between hanging his head even further and nodding in excitement, trying not to ignore Shiro while at the same time hiding away.  A smile graces his lips, however, and he finds the courage to look at Shiro directly as he gives a shy nod.  Shiro grins back at him.

Keith knows Shiro can’t hear them, but his plants are currently planning wedding arrangements in the background.  Keith shushes them when Shiro turns to pick up the plumbago.

“Great.  That’s great.  Really great.  Just great.” Shiro says, holding the potted flower (who is singing happily at the turn of events) carefully to his chest. 

“Yeah, it is,” Keith agrees.

With nothing left to say and no services left to be rendered, Shiro really has no choice but to leave.  Keith follows, walking him to the door.  Neither speak, but both have large grins on their faces as they share the last of each other’s good company, at least for now.

It was too easy, too peaceful, and Keith should have expected what happened next.

When Shiro turns to face Keith, to say a proper good-bye, Keith blinking up expectantly at him, neither notice the trickle of a root slowly wrapping around both their feet.  Shiro and Keith are talking about plans, Keith relaying his schedule so Shiro knows when he’s free for coffee, entirely distracted by the way Shiro is still gazing at him, so doesn’t hear the giggle of the libernums hanging above them.

So, neither expect when their worlds turn side-ways.

Keith has the wind knocked out of him as he’s sent to the floor, Shiro landing on top of his chest.  The entire shop erupts into a fit of laughter, drowning out Shiro’s groans as he quickly pushes up so he’s not resting his weight on Keith’s smaller frame.

“I’m so sorry!” Shiro quickly apologises. 

Keith grits his teeth, rubbing his sore head, though finds the pain dissipates as he realises how close Shiro is.  So close, Shiro’s white forelock is brushing the bridge of his nose.  So close, Keith can pick out the specs of blue in Shiro’s grey eyes.  So close, all it would take is for Keith to angle his head for their lips to meet. 

His face goes hot.

“No, don’t be!” Keith quickly amends, trying not to move and make this more awkward.  “It’s not your fault!  I’m sorry; normally they’re so much more well behaved.”

Shiro tries to stand, though finds it difficult when he notices their feet are still locked together by a large root stemming from one of the potted-plants guarding the door.  Keith had kept their soil loose and roots free as a security measure, not a match-making service.

At the realisation that they had been tripped by something not normally so sentient, Shiro’s eyes grow wide.

“You’re a witch?”

It’s not necessarily a judgemental tone, but Keith doesn’t like the way the words are said either.  He swallows, unable to escape, still under Shiro’s form.

“I thought you knew?”

“How?”

“…usually the clothes are a dead give-away.”

At this, Shiro glances at Keith’s robes, their thick material lined with shimmering thread.  His boots, scuffed and stained from the constant garden work, even the pendant that lays on Keith’s chest.

It’s Shiro’s turn to go red.

“I had no idea…”

Finally, the roots become loose and the two are able to put some space between themselves.  Keith sits up, still rubbing the bruise on his head.  Shiro sits on his knees, still starring dumbfoundedly at nothing.  Keith notices Shiro doesn’t look exactly happy by the turn of events.  He feels disappointment cloud his thoughts and take up home-base in his throat. 

“Listen, if you’d cancel that date…” Keith starts.  Shiro snaps out of whatever daze he had been in, locking eyes with Keith again.  “I underst-“

“Will you go out with me?” Shiro is quick to stay, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Keith takes his turn to go silent, gazing at Shiro, who only fixes with him with the most genuine stare back.  It takes a while for Keith to take in the words, but when he does, he smiles at Shiro and gives him a nod, far more confident than the last.

Shiro grins back.


End file.
